Chapter Twelve
Everyone’s talking about your party. It’s a big one. Are you nervous?” Danika dumps the bag of candy into the bone bowl with skeleton legs—the Halloween bowl I use every year for the trick-or-treaters.
“I guess.” There is zero enthusiasm in my voice. I adjust the vampire collar and black bob in the reflection of the glass cabinet. “Am I crooked?”
Danika inspects me and tugs on one side of the wig to center it. She drapes the black cowl over her wavy purple wig with heavy bangs and picks up the bowl of Milk Duds and Twizzlers. I grab the witch hat, filled with full-sized Milky Ways and KitKats.
“Your mom’s going all out this year. I can’t believe she had the invitations hand-delivered by little kid Cupids. The entire school was freaking out.” Danika leads the way to our front door. “Why aren’t you excited?”
I roll my eyes. Definitely not my idea. I wish I had stayed home from school that day. I haven’t had much influence over my party for months. My mother is going over the final details with the event planner and Mrs. Riley right now, and I’m not there. Not that it matters anymore anyway.
Every birthday since sixth grade, I’ve thrown a party here at the house and in the backyard.
Decorating it with my friends and maybe a little help from Mom and Dad.
Whether I transform the yard into a graveyard and the house into a haunted mansion.
Or a massacre circus tent and a house of mirrors with strategic dead ends.
It was always my creation. And it’s the only time kids from school showed for one of my parties.
Not that I’ve tried having any since the disastrous back-to-school party in seventh grade—no one likes to celebrate returning to school.
My birthday was my day. Even if most people ignored me for the rest of the year, they always talked about my Halloween birthday party. The birthday part often forgotten.
When my mother first offered to help plan it, I was excited.
We don’t spend much time together since she’s always working or attending an event for my dad.
And even less recently with the upcoming launch of the linen line for her interior design company.
Now that she’s also assisting with Dad’s election campaign, she almost never has time for me.
When she hired the event planner for my party and then started adding more and more names of corporate heads to the list, I disappeared from the planning altogether.
The last two weeks, I haven’t contributed to any of it—having given up on trying to interject an opinion or objection.
“It doesn’t really feel like it’s my party anymore. It’s become this warped campaign event. There’ll probably be more adults there that I’ve never met than kids from school who don’t know my name.”
“Stop. Everyone knows your name. You’re a Prescott,” Danika cajoles, setting the skeleton bowl next to the red velvet throne chairs I dug out of storage for tonight. I choose not to correct her by differentiating hearing of my family name versus knowing me—I’m not my family’s legacy.
The driveway’s lined with a dozen jack-o’-lanterns I carved over the past week. Danika, Jaz and Darcy helped… a little. They painted the mini pumpkins sitting along our steps. They remind me of the preschool pumpkin Collin stole for me.
“You know what I mean.” A rustling sound echoes from the side of the house within the bushes that frame the porch. I look at Danika. She heard it too.
“Yeah, most people at our school aren’t worth knowing anyway.” She peers over the hedge and waves for me to join her. “Are you going to tell me what you’re going as? I don’t understand why you won’t let me see your costume.”
“You’ll get to see it tomorrow,” I mutter, trying to conceal the bite in my tone.
I spent the past month going back and forth with my mother.
It wasn’t my first, or fifth, choice. But we finally agreed on something we could both live with.
“I’m a little nervous about the theme my mom and the planner came up with.
I think it’s dumb, honestly. I don’t know if anyone will get it. Our class can be a little…”
Collin’s denim butt bobs behind the bushes as he crouches awkwardly on his hands in attempt to sneak along the house. Danika shakes her head with a dispassionate sigh.
“Unimaginative?” Danika sits back down and crosses her arms. “Maybe they’ll surprise you.”
I sit as well and get my camera ready. “Doubt it. I’ve learned to lower my expectations.”
Danika laughs. “Wait ’til you see my costume. It’s wicked.” The gleam in her eye makes me a little nervous. She heard the part about all the adults attending too, right?
“Trick or treat!” A scarecrow jumps out from behind the hedge, his arms raised, as if to scare us. I take a picture, the flash making him blink hard.
Danika stares at him blandly. “Hey, Collin,” Danika drones. “We were so scared.”
“C’mon. Really? I was trying so hard to be quiet.” He looks crushed. Poor guy.
“It was the arms,” I tell him and point to the leaves poking out of his plaid shirt. “We heard you coming a mile away.”
Collin groans. “And it’s so itchy too.” He squirms, making the leaves inside his shirt rustle again.
“Isn’t Jonathan with you?” I ask, stretching my neck to look along the side of the house, hoping Jonathan will appear at any second.
“Oh, uh, he didn’t call you?”
I shake my head, my heart deflating.
“His dad is making him help at the haunted house his company constructed in Winslow. Guess he’s selling tickets or taking them. Or something with tickets.”
“Oh.” I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice. I know it wasn’t his choice. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I guess I never realized how much his father depended on him until now that we’re dating.
Dating? I guess that’s the right thing to call it.
Still feels weird. Before… when we were just friends, I’d soak in every second I got to see him even if it was in the halls at school.
Or once a week for our breakfasts at Clara’s.
Our schedules conflict a lot with dance, or swim, or whatever.
I’d live for Sunday mornings. I thought I missed him before, but now that I can actually touch him.
Kiss him… his absence is even more noticeable.
I sound needy. I know it. But kissing him has become my new obsession. I can’t help it.
“We could go to him,” Danika proposes, like it’s that simple and she can’t figure out why we didn’t suggest it to begin with.
I look to Collin, hopeful. Do we risk getting him in trouble with his dad? Collin shrugs in return. “I guess we could just be going to the haunted house and happen to find him there.”
Danika looks between us, confused. “What’s the big deal?”
“His father,” I answer without answering.
“He can be a dick,” Collin adds flatly. “If he’s there and thinks Jonathan’s slacking because we’re there…”
“For real?” Danika questions. “I heard Hal Reeves was a good guy. My dad thinks he’s hilarious. Although he is a bit paranoid about his job sites.”
I don’t know much about Mr. Reeves. I say a polite hi to him when I see him in public, but I’ve never had a conversation with him.
I’ve only ever heard the same things said about him, other than what Collin tells me.
That he’s super involved in the town and sponsors Hollis sports teams. Jonathan prefers not to talk about his dad at all, but he doesn’t have to say anything—his feelings simmer in his eyes at the mention of him.
And I’ve been disappointed too many times when Jonathan has to cancel or return home early because he needs to help his dad or when he gets blamed for something that seems irrational.
Neither of Jonathan’s parents has ever attended a football game.
From what I understand, Mr. Reeves’s time is consumed with running his construction company or coaching Jonathan’s younger brother’s baseball and basketball teams. I remember him taking Jonathan to his swim meets when he was younger, before I got to attend.
I’ve never seen him at any of the high school meets.
Jonathan acts like he doesn’t care that his parents aren’t involved in his school life—I’ve always wondered if that’s true.
Or if he hides his true emotions about this as well.
“Trust me. I work for him too. He’s a real hard-ass. Definitely won’t put up with Jonathan taking a break even if it’s just to say hi.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” I say, suddenly concerned that if we show up tonight, Jonathan might not be allowed to come to my party.
Collin and I have talked about what sets Mr. Reeves off, and we can’t figure it out.
Jonathan claims it’s his existence alone, which only reflects how awful it must be for him at home.
“We’ll be careful,” Danika says. “I want to go to the haunted house anyway. Especially if this party really isn’t like your others. I prefer your gorier-themed birthdays.” She quickly adds, “No offense.”
I understand. I’m not thrilled about my tame party theme either.
We leave the filled skeleton bowl for the last hour of trick-or-treating.
All the cute and imaginative costumes have already visited us at this point—the late Halloweeners, usually older kids, are all about the candy and barely make an effort.
I don’t feel bad about leaving them granola bars and raisins.
As we pile into Danika’s car, I’m still not convinced we should be going. I consider texting to warn Jonathan, but he probably won’t see it. Not in time anyway. He really is horrible at checking his phone.
The haunted house is packed. It’s Halloween weekend.
Probably why Jonathan was forced to work.
Maybe he’s been working here the past couple weeks, and I didn’t know.
I don’t ask about every move he makes. And he doesn’t volunteer many details.
Working here probably isn’t important enough to mention.
I realize we’re the exact opposite of Oren and Danika.